


Feel Like This (Count Your Blessings Remix)

by pearl_o



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are other ways Charles can deal with his lust. There's always alcohol. And when it gets truly desperate - well, that's when he finds someone else to distract him for a few hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Like This (Count Your Blessings Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helens78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Does It Feel Like This When](https://archiveofourown.org/works/226709) by [helens78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78). 



The first one's name is Donald. He's too short - about the same height as Charles himself, actually - but he's whipcord thin, and strong enough to hold Charles down. Donald leaves bruises on his upper arms that Charles will press with his fingertips for days afterward, alone in the shower, hissing at the pleasure of the ache.

The second one is called Richard. His smile is gorgeous, although he gives it out so freely and easily. His eyes are pale, a color Charles can't quite pin down, although he gets plenty of opportunity to study them, because Richard's eyes stay open and locked upon Charles the entire evening. He gets off on watching, and so Charles puts on a show.

The third one never actually gives Charles a name, and Charles avoids seeking it out in his mind. If he knows it, he'll be tempted to use it; better this way, quick and anonymous. All Charles remembers of him later is his lovely, hefty cock, and the satisfaction Charles took in performing the blowjob - not holding back at all, encouraging the man on, harder, deeper, _more_ , until he thought he'd be wrecked from it. His throat ached and his voice was hoarse for a day afterward and it was all so obvious that Charles couldn't help but think: even Erik will have to notice, even Erik will have to say something, even if it's nothing but a joke or a dismissal.

But of course Erik says nothing.

* * *

The funny part of it all is that this isn't really something Charles does very often. Whatever pointed jokes Raven may make on occasion, Charles doesn't think of himself as particularly promiscuous. Every several months, at most, he might pick up a pretty girl at the pub for a night of fun. Never more than a night, that was true - he'd never had a real relationship, not the kind he'd seen idealized in other people's minds. It wasn't really possible, he'd thought, not when his ability would always have to be a secret, something separating them from each other.

That was all right. He liked sex quite a lot, when it was available. He was happy. He had his studies, and he had Raven. He didn't need more.

The last time he had slept with a man had been during undergrad. Charles has always been as attracted to men as he is to women, but being with women was so much easier. There had been a point when he was younger when the danger and secrecy had been its own aphrodisiac, but that thrill had worn off. The risks had seemed to outweigh the benefits, even with his telepathy to help him.

What had changed between then and now was Erik.

* * *

In truth, Charles isn't used to wanting. He has _never_ wanted anything like this. Like a constant ache in his chest.

* * *

It would be easy if lust was all Charles felt for Erik. At least that would be simple. 

Charles isn't used to having a friend. A true friend. He thinks of the classic books he read as a child and a young man, the epic relationships of men, closer than lovers, ageless and undying. It had never been something he thought would apply to himself. 

And yet: Erik. A week, a day, an hour after they met, and Charles cannot imagine going back to life without him. 

Their friendship is more important than whatever sexual attraction Charles might have for him. They have so much to accomplish, working together. This trip, looking for mutants, is only the beginning of what lies in store for the two of them.

And after all, there are other ways Charles can deal with his lust. There's always alcohol. And when it gets truly desperate - well, that's when he finds someone else to distract him for a few hours.

* * *

The eighth man's name is George. He is the same height as Erik, dark-haired, and he smells like pipe smoke. Charles bends him over the table in his apartment and kisses his way down his back, mouthing at each of the prominent knobs of his spine as he goes, until he reaches the generous curve of his ass and uses his hands to spread him open wide.

The ninth is named Nathan. He has a soft stutter and his hands are gentle in Charles's hair when Charles goes down on him, slow and deliberate and careful, bobbing his head upon his circumcised cock.

* * *

Most of their time together is spent traveling, one car or train or bus after another. Most often it's cars. Erik drives almost always; just being behind the wheel brings a brightness to his eyes, and Charles knows how much he enjoys the constant awareness of the metal surrounding them.

They spend much of the time on the road talking. Arguing, sometimes, which is its own odd enjoyment; Erik's mind is so sharp and bright and organized, so intelligent, that Charles can't help but find his opinions endlessly fascinating, however much they may contrast with his own. Other times, their conversations might wander through any number of topics, a curling and meandering journey. Erik doesn't share anything personal, during all of these conversations. The more Charles knows about him, the more he yearns to know more.

As much as they talk during the day, they don't speak at night. When Charles comes back to their motel room after a tryst, Erik never says a word, and so Charles doesn't either. There's a blankness to Erik's face that Charles can't read, and he doesn't dare look into his mind. 

At some point, Charles stops bothering to hide that it's men that he's picking up, almost nightly now. Surely, he thinks, that will provoke _some_ sort of reaction from Erik, though he has no clue what it might be.

Still nothing. Not even a raised eyebrow.

* * *

Number fifteen. Charles almost forgets to even get his name. The resemblance to Erik is so striking that Charles freezes, drink halfway to his mouth. He can't help staring; his mouth waters just looking at the broadness of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, the way his hand lovingly grips his cigarette and brings it slowly up to his mouth. Even if Charles hadn't been drinking, he doesn't think he'd able to concentrate on anything else.

When he crosses the bar to let Erik know he's leaving, he's surprised by Connor following him. Connor introduces himself to Erik, shakes his hand, squeezes Charles like he's showing off some sort of possession. Charles doesn't understand the smugness and satisfaction that Connor's so obviously feeling.

For a split second, there's _something_ in Erik's eye. Something. Charles doesn't know what it is, but his heart jumps into his throat and he wants to- _Erik_ , he thinks, _what is it_ , what does it mean-

But whatever expression it might be, it's gone. Maybe Charles imagined it completely. Either way, it's too late, and Charles leaves with Connor.

Connor fucks him, fast and hard and merciless. It hurts, but the hurt is good; he wants it to hurt, mixed in so tightly with the pleasure that there's nothing else in his mind. Charles's mind is never empty, no matter how much he wants it to be, but this comes close. Giving himself up to being fucked, slammed into again and again by Connor's big cock. If it's not what Charles wants, it's as close as he can get.

And then Connor almost ruins it. "Your friend," he says, a low growl, and anything else, absolutely anything else said in that voice would just be turning Charles on more. Anything but this. "Does it feel like this when he fucks you?"

No. No.

"Does he make you beg?" And then: "You want him to fuck you like this?"

Charles can't take it. _Stop talking_ , he thinks, and it's an order, a command, not a suggestion. Connor shuts his mouth, and all that comes out of it after are moans. Those Charles can handle, those gorgeous noises, going straight to Charles's cock.

 _Fuck me, fuck me_ , Charles thinks, keeping the thoughts in his own head, and he does his best to not think about anything outside this moment and this room.

* * *

When he gets back to the motel room, Erik has just come out of the shower. He's wearing nothing but a towel. Charles has spent all this time feasting on the slightest glimpse of skin Erik might expose: his wrist, the back of his neck. And here he is, spread out like all of the dreams Charles has been avoiding. It's not fair.

He doesn't feel up to talking to Erik, whatever stupid pleasantries the occasion might call for, but there's no choice. 

And then something changes. That flash of emotion, just like in the bar, and then-

-Erik's _mind_ , open to him, showing him everything, and it's more than Charles ever thought, ever hoped-

-he's not alone, even in this. The force of Erik's _want_ leaves him breathless. The jealousy, the anger: every feeling coming from Erik is so strong that Charles wants to drown in it, could do so happily, because it's for him, it's about _him_ , him and Erik together.

He lets Erik drag him into the bathroom, lets Erik shove him under the shower spray, clean him of all evidence that Connor left behind. Erik's kiss, Erik's fingers fucking his used ass, and Charles gives him everything, everything he has, everything he has been feeling all of these weeks. _Please, Erik, please_ and _no one else_ and _never, never again_.

* * *

Number sixteen, but it's also number one, because it's the first one that matters. First and last: there's never going to be anyone else, not like this. Erik, Erik, Erik.

"Does this feel like that did?" Erik says, echoing Connor's question from earlier. 

It's nothing like that was. Nothing at all.

Erik makes Charles beg for it. Charles begs, he _wants_ to beg. There's nothing standing between them now, nothing at all. 

Erik's cock, and he's big, he's so big, filling Charles almost beyond what he can bear, but he wants it, he wants it all. 

Erik's mind, and Charles can feel it, every time he hurt Erik without having the slightest idea, every time Erik looked at him and what he saw, every emotion searing so strongly through Erik that Charles can barely breathe.

Erik pins Charles's wrists above his head, holds him down with all his strength, and Charles glories in it, shifting beneath him just to feel how tightly Erik holds on to him. There's nothing but Erik all around him. Nothing but the two of them together.

 _I want you_ , he thinks, and _yours, always yours, forever_ , and _this is all I wanted, you were all I wanted_ , and he can feel everything Erik is feeling, everything about him just as brilliant and shining and complex as Charles always knew it to be, his thoughts mirroring Charles's in every respect. 

Even after they've both come, they don't stop touching; they're still curled together, even as sleep slowly begins to overtake them.

 _One and only_ , Charles thinks drowsily. Erik's arm tightens across his chest and the last thing Charles feels before he drifts off to sleep is the uncertain joy and hope and possession that pings from Erik's head.


End file.
